


a song of sorrow

by cassanabaratheon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Brothers, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 19:51:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14244537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassanabaratheon/pseuds/cassanabaratheon
Summary: A song that haunts them all.





	a song of sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> The song I have used is a Greek song "Den Εinai Αygi Νa Sikotho" from the Vourla/Smyrna region. Translations are my own.

The babe does not cry; she peers up at him with big green eyes, gurgling contently as he rocks her in his large arms. This is the first he has held her, the little princess Myrcella. He cannot say if he if approves wholly of her name but her mother had insisted and he had no stomach to argue with her. Besides, he could not think of another name to give to her and had certainly brushed away the mere suggestion to use his lady mother’s name early on. No child of his would ever bear that name, that was a vow he made.

“You are beautiful,” Robert spoke softly to the child and she seemed to delight at his words. “Beautiful, little one.”

He paces the room slowly with her, unable to stop himself from smiling down at her, at her tiny frame, fingers stretching out to grasp his beard. Cersei guarded her eldest child fiercely, even from him, and no doubt she would with her second. After all, he had not been alone with the child since her birth; always someone hovering around, watching him. He had dismissed the woman this morning, just for a small time, in order to see the little princess.

“No clouds in the sky today,” he murmurs, moving towards the large windows through which the light strengthens as it nears dawn, casting the room into a shade of pale gold.

He catches himself humming, the tune having escaped him unbidden and the words ache in his mouth. He closes his eyes to breathe, to shake off the sweeping sorrow that the song brings.

She stirs as if she senses his distress and his eyes open to look at her in half-wonder.

“' _It is not yet dawn, not yet dawn for me to rise and to sigh;_ '” he whispers the words of the song to her. “’ _Come out, my sun, and come and talk to me…_ ’”

 

* * *

 

 

“You are pensive, my king. That song your Estermont-kin sung has saddened you.”

She half-expects a rebuttal, for him to rise and turn away from her, a dismissal of her from him, but it does not come. She is patient in the silence that settles around her words. She watches in fascination at the way his jaw works, locking and unlocking, and she imagines all the words that swell upon his tongue, bursting to be free. His jaw clenches harder to keep them from spilling out.

“It was her song.”

She did not expect him to admit to it, to acknowledge her words and to respond. He never spoke of his family, of his Father and Mother, though she knows, like all did, the circumstances of their demise. She feels the flicker of familiarity for his sadness.

 _Melony_ , a quiet voice whispers in her head and her own jaw tightens.

He suddenly turns his head to look straight at her. “ _And from, and from my heart to cry; ‘Come out so I can see you and be comforted’_.”

His voice is rough and barely audible and for a second she sees not a man, certainly not a king, but a boy that had watched in hopelessness as his Father and lady Mother drowned in the storm-tossed waves with no gods hearing his prayers to save them. 

Her mouth is dry and heart thumps hard in her chest at his words, at the melancholy that seeps out from every part of him. His stare is intense and she sees him take in shallow breaths much like her own. She crosses the room slowly to where he is seated by the fire, kneels by his side, red skirts pooling around her and reaches out to take his hand. She curls her fingers tightly around his. He closes his eyes but does not withdraw his hand, keeping just as tight a hold on her and she does him.

  

* * *

 

 

Loras finds him plucking at the lyre absently, humming a tune under his breath, thoughts far from the activity happening around them. Renly smiles at him when he comes closer but it is a distant sort of smile and Loras crouches at his side.

“The men are all nearly ready to ride out to Storm’s End,” he informs him quietly.

Renly nods but when he speaks it is not about their upcoming confrontation with his brother. “Did you know that I was not allowed to practise this song when my brothers were around? I had to learn it in secret.”

Loras tilted his head in consideration. “They are not here now.”

“No,” Renly says steadily, looking at him then at the lyre where his fingers ghost over the strings. “Robert is dead and Stannis…” he gives a wry chuckle. “Stannis wants me to declare him King. That or destroy me. Both, perhaps.”

Loras gently takes a hold of his hands, kissing them both in turn and now Renly’s smile is soft and warm.

“What harm is there in a song?”

Renly squeezes his hands. “It was the song our mother used to sing. Though I have no such memory,” he adds quietly and Loras’ heart aches in sympathy.

“Sing it,” he says. “Sing it for me. Your brothers are not here and you are King, you can sing any song that pleases you.”

Renly leans down, pressing his forehead against his for a moment before Loras tips head up, kissing him gently. “We do not have time,” he murmurs against his lips.

Loras moves back, settling himself by his side and gazes at him expectantly. “Sing the song, my love.”

He has not shared this with anyone since his disastrous performance to his brothers when he was still but a child. Their anger and sadness had left him bewildered and hurt, left out of the one thing his older siblings could share and agree on; their pain over the loss of their parents. Parents that Renly never knew.

He sings the song; heart thundering in his chest. Tears prick at his eyes suddenly as he nears the end, throat constricting and he sees that there are tears in Loras’ eyes also and he manages to hoarsely whisper the final words:

“ _…And in their sorrow, they say, “Star of the dawn, what took you so long to come?_ ””


End file.
